Raising Men: My Sailor
by SMKLegacy
Summary: Three women compare notes on the men they love. Sarah Mackenzie talks about the sailor who holds her heart hostage because he won’t grow up.


TEASER:  Three women compare notes on the men they love.  Sarah Mackenzie talks about the sailor who holds her heart hostage because he won't grow up.

DISCLAIMERS:  The characters herein don't belong to me; I've borrowed them from Warner Brothers, Shoot the Moon Productions, Paramount, Bellisarius Productions, and Aaron Sorkin, et al.  I promise to return them relatively unscathed and to cherish them as though I made multi-millions on each episode.  I also hereby thank the actors who brought and bring these characters to life in their fictional worlds, because they are the ones who have provided the depth and motivations for these _dramatis personae_.  

RATING:  PG-13

FEEDBACK:  Always welcome, but spare me the flames, please.  Even New England gets warm in the summer.  E-mail in my profile or through the review feature in the story pages.

SPOILERS:  Everything in_ JAG_ through "Standards of Conduct";bits and pieces through "Inauguration Part II:  Over There" from _The West Wing_  and throughout the entire run of _Scarecrow and Mrs. King_.  It is not related to my previous story, "With Prejudice".  And yes, I do know that _The West Wing_ and _JAG_ don't exist in the same timeline, but that's what artistic license is all about.

COMPANION PIECES:  Lady Amanda and Raising Men:  My Spy, posted on the_ Scarecrow and Mrs. King _page, and Lady Donnatella and Raising Men:  My Statesman, posted on _The West Wing_ page.

=====

The second most annoying man in the world waltzed into JAG headquarters yesterday afternoon and begged for my services as a translator at today's meeting at the Russian Embassy.  I was seriously afraid for said annoying man when I heard what sounded like the collision of a fist on cartilage within Admiral Chegwidden's office while I waited in the vestibule, but seeing as the annoying one greeted me a moment later, upright and conscious, obviously I didn't hear a nose-breaking punch.

Clayton Webb was smart enough to make a hasty exit before the admiral called my partner into his office to tell him the bad news, or Harm might have been the one throwing the punch.

"Admiral!  We're preparing for a tedious and complex court martial!  You can't just pull my co-counsel away from me for a day in the middle of my discovery process."

The admiral and I both fixated on Harm's use of the possessive pronoun, albeit for different reasons.

"'Your' co-counsel, Commander?  Away from you?"  Our CO's voice got dangerously low, but I would swear in a court of law that he had twinkles in his eyes.  "Are you implying that you are incapable of doing your job without Colonel Mackenzie, even for one day?"

Oh, it was so much fun to watch the most annoying man in the world squirm his way out of that one.  "Uh, Admiral, that wasn't…I think I may have…umm…"  Harm, normally so eloquent, was now caught in the tangle of emotions that inevitably get him all messed up.  I could see it in his face – that was exactly what he meant, but not the way Admiral Chegwidden stated it.  Another look at our ex-SEAL boss and I knew that he was fully aware of the struggle Harm was having.

I, feeling generous for some strange reason, decided to help my poor partner out of his predicament.  "Admiral, I believe what Commander Rabb is trying to say is that we've got a rhythm established that's helped us make significant progress in the past few days.  This break will interrupt that flow."

Chegwidden steepled his fingers together in that contemplative way he has and turned his head toward me fully, dropping a wink with his right eye before he turned back to face Harm.  "Did your partner express your thoughts adequately, Commander?"

Harm had the grace to nod toward me before he answered.  "Yes, sir.  That's exactly what I meant."

Liar, I thought, and pinned him with a look that sent him cowering from the room as soon as we were dismissed.

"You know, Mac, I think Harm just might be growing up a little bit."

I laughed as I exited the admiral's office, but I'm not laughing now because the room is so quiet I can hear my heart beating and everyone is looking at me.  He's not who I'd prefer to see at this point in the morning, but "Undersecretary of State" Clayton Webb is at least a somewhat friendly face and he's standing with a woman who looks like she's incredibly nice.

"Good morning, Mac," Clay says as soon as I'm within easy hearing distance when the noise in the room goes up in volume again.  "Do I need to hide or did you leave your shadow behind?"

I play dumb, not easily.  "You mean Harm?  Clay, why would you think you need to hide from Harm?"

"A certain lieutenant's broken jaw in Australia comes to mind," Clay answers, rubbing his own jaw, then his nose.  "I barely escaped with my nose in tact after I talked with your boss yesterday as it is."

I stifle the urge to laugh, along with the urge to remind him how lucky he was not to encounter my partner yesterday.  As I'm about to speak, he starts again.  "Where are my manners?  Amanda Stetson, this is Lt. Col. Sarah Mackenzie, your translator for the day.  She usually goes by Mac.  Mac, this is Amanda Stetson, Deputy Director of Counter Intelligence for the Agency."

One look at Amanda Stetson and I know that she works for that super-secret organization about which I'm not even supposed to speculate.  We shake hands as I say, "You don't mean the CIA." 

"No, he doesn't.  It's a pleasure to meet you, Mac."

Amanda has a beautiful, peaceful smile that I want to absorb so I can learn to have the same inner calmness.  Being Clayton Webb's favorite "go to" pinch hitter, however, will do nothing to accomplish that goal.

"Amanda, you're really going to be impressed when I tell you more about Mac…" he teases.  I lift an eyebrow his way in warning; he knows full well what I can do to his person if he reveals anything remotely compromising and my partner has nothing on me in that regard.  Still, I'm surprised when he adds, "Remember the Bosnian Gypsy?  Well, you're looking at her."

I fidget as my new acquaintance looks me over again with new appreciation.  Let me just be very clear that I don't think what I did in Bosnia was all that amazing – but I know how scared I was doing it.  I guess the results were much more impressive to others than to me.

"Gosh," Amanda begins, then nods and smiles.  "You have no idea how many lives you saved with what you did."

Actually, Clay once told me that the estimates for just one of my missions was about 700 men and women from one village who managed to leave before the death squads arrived.  I can't wear the decoration I received for that mission, nor the two for other missions.  I don't even know exactly what decorations I won – it's classified.  Truth be told, it's Clay's willingness to pass along these little tidbits of harmless classified information that endears him to me in the odd way that we're bonded.

Harm wonders why I'm not jealous of the medals he and Sturgis received last week and I can't even tell him why.  I wish I knew and I wish I could tell him.  He'd be green – because I'm 99% sure that at least one of my classified commendations is the Intelligence Star.  That trumps the Silver Star, of which he has two.  And suddenly I'm embarrassed because the look on Amanda Stetson's face tells me that she knows _exactly_ which medals I'm not wearing.  "Thank you."

"No, Mac.  Thank you."  The other woman puts us back on safer ground.  "So, are you with the Marine Intelligence Office?"

"No, I'm the Chief of Staff for the Navy's Judge Advocate General."  I nudge Clay in the side with my elbow.  "And Clayton's favorite 'please, Admiral Chegwidden, I promise there will be no danger this time' emergency translator."  Especially when the affair in question requires someone with fluency in Russian and Farsi, faculty in French, German, and Arabic, and a passing acquaintance with Hebrew.  Damn my good ear, anyway.

"You heard me?" Clay whines.

Well, I was standing at the door after he asked the admiral to call me in when he begged.  Of course I heard it.  "Grow up, Webb."  One whiney man is enough in my life.

He waves me off with a lax hand and disappears; just as I start to ask Amanda a question, he comes back with a woman who, I am quite sure, would have Harm drooling at first glance.  Young, blonde, well-dressed, and curvaceous, but without the vapid look that always aggravated me about Renee Peterson.

I understand why the vapid look is absent a moment later when Clay introduces the assistant to the White House Deputy Chief of Staff.  A good friend of mine from ROTC at UMINN served on the National Security Council staff for a couple of years and told me many stories about the people who currently run our country politically.  He saved the "Tales of Josh and Donna" for last each time because those were always the funniest.

"It's creepy," my friend said on more than one occasion.  "It's like two bodies share one enormous brain."  Remembering that, I decide that I can like Donna Moss – blond hair and all – because Harm could never be generous enough to share a woman, however beautiful, with the other half of her intellect.

With the best smile I can manage without my second cup of coffee, I extend my hand to the young woman.  "Mac.  Welcome to the dark side, Donna." 

Ms. Moss grins back with an endearing lopsided smile.  "I work for Josh Lyman, Mac.  This can't possibly be any darker."

=====

I finally get my second cup of coffee during our first break, which I need now to down the extra-strength acetaminophen for the pounding headache behind my eyes.  It could be that using seven languages, in only three of which I'm fully fluent, is the reason for the pain, but more likely it's listening to Clayton's obnoxious, irrelevant asides.  Amanda and Donna, apparently, are privy to the cogent comments.

Thankfully, Clayton has left our table when I return.  I'm tempted to lay my head on the surface before me and close my eyes for a few precious moments when I catch sight of Amanda's gorgeous wedding ring set.  I comment on it; Donna agrees and asks her to tell us about the man who has such good taste.

It sounds to me as though Amanda and her husband, Lee, had as interesting a beginning as Harm and I did.  And as though Amanda had to prove herself just like I did, although without the benefit of Marine Corps training.

My headache is gone halfway through the story of her kidnapping by the Soviets; I understand completely when she says that she knew Lee was someone she could befriend after he admitted to being scared.  It took me a while longer to decide I could really be Harm's friend – but what Marine can resist a commissioned squid who admits to liking the power and authority of a Marine Gunnery Sergeant?  Especially one who can coach a woman he doesn't know through labor while being held hostage in a hospital?  I mean, really.

=====

Amanda excuses herself at the beginning of the next break and I am left alone at the table with Donna for a few moments.  She's just taken off her suit jacket, so I'm curious as to why she's sitting with both hand wrapped around her coffee cup.

"Josh," she says by way of explanation.  "I refuse to get him coffee, so he tries to steal mine."  She laughs and moves her hands away, but her arms are still caging the cup.  "I even protect my coffee at home alone now."

"Let me guess – it's a feminist protest."

There's a sparkle in her eyes when she answers me.  "If he were at home with me, I'd get him coffee."

Oh, yes, my good friend was absolutely right about the "Tales of Josh and Donna" being an unfolding love story.  I just hope for her sake it doesn't take the rest of the President's term.  For that matter, I hope my relationship with Harm doesn't take the rest of the current Presidential term!

=====

I am legitimately surprised at the mistakes I find in the translation of the phone intercepts the RVS has presented from their active network along the Iran-Iraq border, both from Farsi to Russian and from Russian to English.  Better that they had done a Farsi-English version directly, but I guess that the remnant of the old KGB doesn't have the language specialists to do that.  I take ten minutes to mark up the errors while conversation rolls around me in eight languages – Chinese in addition to the seven I understand to one degree or another – and I'm nearly ready for another dose of acetaminophen by the time I hand my corrections to the secretary who will do the revision.  That's when we take an unscheduled break.

I'm dying to know the rest of Amanda's story, and I think that it will do more good than medication will on this returning headache.  So I turn to my new friend and plead my case.  "So, Amanda, tell us more."

We laugh our way through the swamp episode and the flight from their own agency; I can't help but remember the first time I followed Harm to Russia, when we got caught up in the internal power plays of the RVS before we found out what happened to the man who would have been my father-in-law had he lived to see…what hasn't happened yet.  Okay, stray, somewhat irrational thought there.

I'm brought back to the present when I realize that Amanda is talking about her honeymoon in an Intensive Care Unit in a California hospital.  I've missed how she wound up there, but Donna's wet eyes make me think of the assassination attempt by that West Virginia hate group a couple of years ago – and then I remember that Josh Lyman was the one most badly hurt.

"Josh and I had almost the exact same wound," Amanda confirms to the young blonde.

It's different but the same that Harm's escapes from certain death have come from F-14's – first the ramp strike before I knew him, then the punch out almost two years ago.  Of course, there are others, as well; the Watertown incident comes to mind, when a madman nearly suffocated him on his own larynx, the landmine in Afghanistan that still wakes me up at night in cold shivers and the sweats, the whole Clark Palmer thing.

Donna wipes her eyes and apologizes for her tears.  "I don't know why I still cry when I think about it."

I do, and from Amanda's expression, so does she.  "Because it's very hard to think about someone you love almost dying, even when you know he's survived."  I don't add that what hurts even more is the "what ifs" and "might have beens" that haunt you even when you know you still have time to make them happen.

Amanda and Lee had the time to make the "what ifs" and "might have beens" into "ares."  When she pulls out her wallet to show us pictures, I see that their children are beautiful.  It doesn't hurt that her son Jamie is a Marine; that very fact may explain why he's able to wait for little Miss Marlena Marley Forest to grow up.  "That is so incredibly…mature…for a man."

We all laugh, and then we hear more about the adventures Amanda and Lee have been involved with over the years.  But what strikes me most of all about their love is that Lee is still growing up.  I can only dimly envision a day when Harm isn't overtly jealous whenever I even think about another man.  I'm still laughing uproariously when we're finally called back into session.

=====

I want the happy continuing story that Amanda and Lee have – the children, the spectacular careers, the wonderful family friends who have been beside them all the way.  Listening to the older woman talk, I heard echoes – albeit less complicated – of my relationship with Harm in the way Lee danced around his feelings for her while she waited patiently and nudged him along as often as she dared.  Maybe that's been my problem.  She nudged.  I pushed.  Or maybe lately, I've been pulling…

…'cause that's the only way I can explain the Baby Talk last week.  But before I can reflect further on that thought as we break for lunch, Clayton pulls me off into a mini-conference that leaves me absolutely boiling mad.

I stomp back to Amanda and Donna, really not caring that the steam escaping my ears is telling the whole room that I'm a wee bit unhappy.  "That man is the second most annoying man in the world," I declare, picking up my briefcase from the floor beside our table.

The two women ask in good Marine Corps unison, "Who's the first?"

There's an obvious answer to that question.  The man I love more than anyone or anything else in the world.  "Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr., Naval Aviator, JAG Lawyer, and all-around pain-in-the-ass."

"Your turn," they say together again, and with a laugh we're off to the dining room that's been set up to serve a beautiful Russian banquet menu.

I, too, start at the beginning, with the day Clayton Webb introduced me to Harm in the White House Rose Garden, and go on to tell them about the moment I knew I was deeply hooked by this man who alternately infuriates and delights me.  "When I couldn't not offer my hand to pull him back in the helicopter," I say, wrapping up the story of my Uncle Matt and the stolen Declaration of Independence.

Donna looks like she's ready to burst.  "That is so incredibly brave, Mac," she says.  "I can't imagine risking my life like that."

"Would you step in front of a bullet for Josh?" I ask back.

After a moment, she nods, and I know that she's gotten an insight into how deeply it's possible to love another human being, flaws and all.

"Well, Harm and I have done things like that for each other regularly ever since," I continue, and lay out the rest of my six-year saga with the aviator/lawyer who is the air I breathe.

I'm able to be brutally honest about my failings along the way.  I screwed up by not telling Harm – and the admiral – about my marriage to Chris and my affair with John long before Chris ever reappeared on the scene.  That Harm still had enough faith in me to defend me against the murder charges still amazes me.  Harm's reaction when I agreed to go to dinner with Mic at the end of my trial should have been a tip-off to his feelings, but I was too happy about the outcome of the trial to notice then the hurt in his eyes even when he poked at me with "The men you pick."

I have to tell them about Harm's recruiting commercial and the Video Princess – who, truth be told, I think I might have liked if we weren't in competition for his attention and affection – and about the disastrous trip to Australia.  Amanda and Donna get a good laugh out of the story of Mic and Harm going at each other with bare fists after they broke Bud's jaw.  I even admit my stupidity in accepting Mic's ring.

I tell them about Mic's move to Washington and how it felt to know that someone – even the wrong someone – would give up everything for me.  Only then do I describe Mic to them, and I realize finally that there really is quite a resemblance between the man I almost married and the man I love.  Funny that I never allowed myself to admit that before.

I leave out the less flattering parts of the story about Harm and me on the porch at the admiral's house; I still shudder to think how easy it would have been for me to have run away with Harm that night if he had dropped the slightest hint.  But it's pretty clear to anyone who hears the story of the rehearsal dinner, the wedding that wasn't, and how Harm managed to survive his second ejection from a Tomcat (the one from the MiG over Russia wasn't as big a deal, or so he says; tell that to my back, mister!) that Harm and I are deeply connected to each other in ways with which no spouse should have to compete.  I knew then that I will never marry again unless it's Harm waiting for me at the end of the aisle.  No other man completes me the way he does.

I say that aloud as I tell my friends about the past year and a half, including the strains on our friendship following the ends of our relationships with Mic and Renee, the pact we made at the JAG-A-THON to "start over", the days and nights in Afghanistan when we were alone together.  I tell them of my continuing amazement that my Harm cried in my arms when we realized Bud was going to live, and of the odd examples of our connection that have happened recently – the _Lady and the Tramp _noodle thing, which cracks them up; the habit we have of finishing each other's sentences, at which both women nod as though to say "am there, doing that"; the infuriating button pushing that Harm and I manage nearly every day.

And I have somehow saved the best for last.  I tell them – in isolation – about Little AJ, being his godparents, and the Baby Deal.  Donna thinks it's cute; Amanda just shakes her head, and shakes it some more when I tell her about Harm's odd behavior last week and its cause.

"It sounds as though both of you have done a lot of growing up in the past year and a half or so," Amanda comments when I finish.

"I think so," I say, because I'm pretty sure it's true that we're acting like lovesick young teenagers now instead of infatuated preteens.  I'm also sure that Admiral Chegwidden, if not everyone else in the office, will be glad when we reach the young adult stage and can admit and act on our feelings.  "I think for us, we have to grow up together.  But I always seem to be the one pulling."

Amanda pats my hand and I am overwhelmed at the thought that I wish she had been my mother – Jamie is only 6 years younger than I am, after all, and he has an older brother.  "It gets easier, eventually."

Donna gives the other woman a look worthy of Harm at his most pathetic and puppy-doggish.  "Promise?  'Cause sometimes I wonder about that."

"I promise," Amanda nods.  "Lee and I will invite you all over some night and you'll see."

=====

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur, except when we have a taste of Donna's story during a brief break.  It's also then that we realize that all three of us are meeting our men at the same bar – which is a good thing, because I really want to hear this story and we'll barely have time as it is.  

I'll have plenty of time to wait; Harm will be his usual 30-35 minutes late and it looks as though we'll be out more than half an hour early.  Luckily, I told him to meet me at 1630 so he'd be there at 1700 when I was due to arrive.  Otherwise I'd have nearly an hour instead of less than a half hour.

When I say this, Donna goes into a diatribe about Josh causing her all kinds of problems if he arrives anytime before 5 p.m.  It's really pretty funny, but I have to call her on something she says about Josh's attempts to apologize for his stupidity.  "If it were really ineffectual, you'd have left your job a long time ago."

She smiles and I am struck again at her natural beauty.  If it weren't for Josh Lyman's hold on her, I wouldn't want her anywhere near Harm.  "That's true," she admits ruefully.

As she tells the first part of her story, I realize that Harm and Josh must have come from the same litter or something.  Like Amanda and me, Donna had to earn respect from her man, although I think maybe she had it a little easier if only because it sounds like Josh was too bewitched to question her beyond the phone call she answered for him.

Then again, maybe Lee and Harm were more aware that Amanda and I respectively had them bewitched and were angry about it.

Okay, fat chance.  But it was worth mentioning as a far out theory.

Amanda and I laugh almost as hard about Josh's behavior toward Donna's dating activity as Donna and I laughed at the thought of either Josh or Harm not showing his jealousy.  I will say this about Harm:  he's never actually interfered with any date I attempted to go on.  I think I might have preferred that he did; it would at least have shown me conclusively that he was jealous instead of leaving me to wonder with his snide comments after the fact.  Or not to wonder after he and Mic broke Bud's jaw, of course, but by then I was too confused to see it clearly.

Whatever the case, the walk to the bar promises to be interesting when Donna continues her story.

=====

When the convener gavels the meeting closed, Clay is quick off the mark as we all stand.  "Ladies, it's been fun," he pronounces.  "As much as I'd like to walk you to the bar, I think it's best that I leave now to get a jump start on what tomorrow may bring."

"You're just afraid Commander Rabb will be there early," Donna accuses, nailing our favorite CIA spook after only two encounters.

He does his best Marine Corps impersonation – which wouldn't pass muster after the first hour of boot camp or OCS – and huffs as he says, "I most certainly am…"  

His voice drops on the long final word with such self-deprecation that I lean over to kiss his cheek before I give in to temptation.  "Wimp," I taunt.  "**I** can take Harm."

"**You're** a Marine," Clay volleys.  He's right, I am a Marine, but that's not why I can take Harm and Clay can't.  Although any Marine could, of course.

He's already out of earshot before Donna fumbles for something to say.  "That man is…" her voice trails off.

"In need of someone to raise him properly?" I speculate.

"Exactly," Amanda murmurs with a warm giggle as we begin the process of packing up to leave.

Donna starts her story again.  Maybe it's the difference in the ways our men get their adrenaline rushes, but it seems to me that Donna has had far more confirmation of her place in Josh's life than Amanda had in the first two years or than I've had since we started this whole affair.

Ooh, bad choice of words.

Be that as it may, she tells us with awe about the skiing book that she admits means far more to her than actual skis ever could – and then swears us to secrecy lest Josh think he's off the hook for the skis.  I can understand that; I'll be keeping the duplicate copy of _Clear and Present Danger_ that Harm bought me for Christmas to replace what was actually _The Bear and the Dragon_ that he tore up on the _Seahawk_ before we found out about Bud.  It's for the inscription, of course.

_Sarah,_ he wrote, _I would be happy to help you dress anytime.  It's the least I can do for the only woman who can save me from a landmine and hold me when I cry.  LA, Harm._

It's not the word "love", but an abbreviated "love always" is pretty damned close.  I am not, however, letting him off the hook for another copy of _The Bear and the Dragon_, since it's now the only Tom Clancy book I don't have in my library.

Harm has told me on occasion that I look good, more rarely that I am beautiful.  Either I crave that affirmation so much that I'm willing to believe it whenever he says it or he says it with such conviction that I believe it, I'm not sure, but I find myself resonating with Donna's self-described "puddle of womanhood aching to be kissed" when Josh told her to buy the dress because she looked good in it.

"Did you?" I ask a split second before Amanda can.

"You bet," she says.

We make our way outside after we've heard about several other "nice Josh" appearances.  I somehow believe that when Josh makes a promise, it's as important to him as Harm's promises are to him.  I have no doubt that Donna's face will someday appear on a stamp, although she isn't so sure.  To her, it's the thought that counts.

We're walking out to the embassy gate when Amanda turns to look back at the building.

I voice what's on my mind.  "Hard to believe that the enemy is such a different thing after less than 15 years."

"It was easier back then," Amanda pronounces.

Donna nods.  "Yeah.  It was just 'us' and 'them', not 'us' and 'them' and 'them' and 'them'."

And I've faced all the "them" and "them" and "them" one way or another.  Amanda's right:  it was easier back then.

Back then, I didn't have to worry about Harm leading a dirty nuke away from an aircraft carrier, praying that the missile would run out of fuel before it caught up with his Tomcat.  That I didn't know Harm back then is entirely beside the point.

"My God, the racket they were making, I thought they'd get arrested," Donna says as we're approaching the bar in Scott Circle.  She's telling us about Inauguration night and the way Josh monopolized her at the balls after he finally persuaded her to attend.  "And when I suggested that he needed to dance with CJ, Zoey, and Mrs. Bartlet, you'd have thought I asked him to strip naked and do the Chicken Dance."

Hmm…Josh Lyman isn't exactly my type, so the visual does nothing for me.  Harm stripped naked doing the Chicken Dance, on the other hand…I join Amanda's laughter as we nod in sympathy with the thought that despite it all, she's in love with Josh.  We both know what that means.

I am reaching for the handle of the outer door to the bar as the words come out at the same time:  

"It's hell raising men."

Fine 


End file.
